What A Rogue Wants (43 page)

Grey pulled his hand free. “Father
would not be proud. I misjudged Madelaine, and my error may yet
mean her death.” He glanced toward the door, willing Plumbe or his
wife to come with news.

“
You love her.” It was a
statement rather than a question.

“
I do. And if she lives
and will have me, I intend to marry her. Yet one more reason I
would have given Father to be disappointed in me.”

“
He wouldn’t have been
disappointed.”

Grey scoffed with disbelief. “You said
yourself Father thought wives were weakness for spies.”

“
He did. But he also took
a wife and loved Mother very much.” Edward smiled. “As I said
before, the two of you are more alike than either of you ever saw.
It’s why you didn’t rub along well.”

Grey stood and moved to the door to
peer down the hall. Impatience clawed at him. If he didn’t have
some news soon, he’d go mad. “I always thought you were more like
Father.” He stared out the window into the street shining with the
first rays of daylight.

Edward came up behind Grey and grasped
him on the shoulder. “Not in matters of the heart. Where that’s
concerned, I am practical where you two are romantic. If I ever
take a wife, it will simply be because I must produce an heir. But
only if you don’t produce one for me.”

It was on the tip of Grey’s tongue to
reply, but Plumbe appeared in the hall, and Grey raced toward the
man. “How is she?”

The man’s eyes cast downward and
Grey’s heart plunged. The physician wiped his hands on his bloody
apron before raising his gaze to Grey’s. “She’s alive for now. I
can’t say what tomorrow will bring.”

Grey’s hand shook as he reached out to
caress Madelaine’s cheek. Behind him, he heard footsteps and
glanced back to see the physician.

Plumbe came to stand by Grey. “The
bullet passed cleanly through her side.”

Grey nodded as he stared down at her
and watched the rise and fall of her chest. The motion, though
ragged, gave him hope. “What’s the danger?”

“
Infection. I sewed her up
as best as I could. Now we wait and hope fever doesn’t kill her.
I’ll leave you alone for a bit. But I’ll be down the hall if you
need me.”

Grey pulled a chair close, sat, and
took her hand. It was clammy and warm. He lay his head on the edge
of her bed and pressed his cheek into her palm, remembering what it
felt like when she’d caressed him with tenderness. Emotion clogged
his throat. Christ! If she died and left him, he’d never bloody
well forgive himself, not that he was sure he could
anyway.

He lay there for hours, listening to
her breathe, glad to know she still was with him. Sometime after
the shadows had shifted in the room, the door creaked open. Grey
lifted his head to find Edward standing by the bed. “How is
she?”

“
No change.”

Edward shifted from foot to foot then
cleared his throat. “I should probably depart for Kew, but if you
need me to stay with you…”

“
No.” Grey sat up fully.
She’d live or die without Edward here, and if she died, Grey would
rather not have an audience when he fell apart. “The king will want
to hear a report. You should go. When she’s better, I’ll bring her
to Windsor to marry her, if she’ll have me.”

Edward squeezed Grey’s shoulder. “I’ll
pray for her.”

“
I thought you didn’t
believe in God anymore.”

Edward shrugged. “I don’t. But I could
be wrong, so just in case, I’ll pray for Madelaine.”

“
Thank you,” Grey choked
out.

As Edward slipped out the door,
Plumbe’s wife slipped in carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese,
wine and some cuts of meat. Grey’s stomach rolled in protest.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

She tisked. “Your woman will need your
strength when she awakens. It won’t do for you to be too sick to
care for her. You need food and sleep.”

“
What’s your name,
madame?”

“
Rose. Call me
Rose.”

Grey smiled. “Rose, I’ll eat, but I
won’t sleep.”

She thrust the tray at him. “We shall
see. You’ve dark circles under your blood-shot eyes. Once your
belly is full, you’ll sleep.”

He’d never be able to sleep until
Madelaine was out of danger, but he didn’t bother to argue further
with Rose. She was being kind, and he would not repay her kindness
with ungraciousness. As he ate, he half-heartedly listened to Rose
talk. Her voice grew low, and he was unable to keep up with her
words. Her lips moved, but he heard no sound. His head bobbed to
the side, and several times he jerked upright.

HE AWOKE CONFUSED. THE ROOM was dark,
except for a splash of moonlight streaming through the window. The
bed was soft enough, but small and he needed more blanket. He
tugged on the scratchy wool tucked under his chin, and when he did,
his shoulder screamed in protest and his awareness came back like a
gut punch.

Jolting from the bed, he raced out the
door and into the dark hall of the house. Which room was
Madelaine’s? Everything appeared different at night. He threw open
several doors before he found her room, almost stumbling in his
eagerness to see her. She moaned, and he fell to her side and laid
a hand on her brow, only to draw back in horror at the fiery heat
of her skin. Fever! “Plumbe!”

Within seconds, Plumbe barreled
through the door with Rose on his heels.

“
She’s on fire,” Grey said
as he stroked her forehead.

The physician placed his hand on
Madelaine’s forehead, his lips pressing together. “Fever’s taken
hold.”

“
Please do
something.”

“
Rose, bring the water
basin and sponge.”

His wife hurried out of the room and
came back within moments with a basin sloshing with water. She
dipped a sponge into the water.

“
Let me,” Grey said, his
voice a desperate thread-bare plea.

Rose handed the sponge to him. “Start
at her head and work down.”

He nodded, rolled up his sleeves, and
gently brought the sponge to her forehead. She moaned and thrashed
about, making him have to grit his teeth together on a string of
curses.

He wiped her face, then her long
slender arms and legs. “Stay with me,” he whispered, not caring
that Plumbe and his wife could hear him. Grey continued to sponge
her until his arm burned from the motion. Pausing, he placed a hand
against her forehead. “God damn it. It’s not working.”

Rose came toward him and took the
sponge. She dropped it in the basin and eyed him with sympathy. “No
more for now.”

“
What then?” He tried to
focus with his blurry vision.

“
Pray,” Rose said simply.
“Ask God to be merciful and bring your woman back to
you.”

As Plumbe and Rose
shuffled out of the room, Grey dropped to his knees and prayed.
“Please,” he whispered. “Nothing matters but her.
I love her
.” He squeezed
his eyes shut, and swallowed, lest the tears overcome him. But what
the bloody hell did it matter if they did? He opened his eyes.
Tears trickled down his face. Tears he’d never allowed himself to
shed as a boy, or a young man, or even as a man when he’d felt
alone. It felt bloody foreign but he cried. For her, he cried.
“Take me. Me.”

The litany continued until his throat
was raw, and he couldn’t speak another word. Exhausted, he rose and
pressed his head against her chest to hear the steady thump of her
heart. Whatever barriers he had once erected, Madelaine had
destroyed. He wanted only to love her for the rest of his
life.

HEAT ROLLED ACROSS MADELAINE’S BODY
like a raging fire, burning her face, neck, arms, legs, destroying
her from the inside out. The merciless heat would not let up. It
engulfed her, making her want to scream and come out of her
skin.

Was she asleep or awake? Was this a
nightmare or her reality? She could see nothing but rolling waves
of brilliant red. The flame called to her, beckoned her to come
closer. She tried to resist, but the flames slithered toward her
like a stealthy snake and coiled its heat around her ankles to drag
her, screaming and thrashing, into the turbulent flames.

Fire crackled around her, the smell of
smoke infusing her nose and lungs. She coughed and her eyes watered
but strangely now that she stood in the heat, peace came over
her.

When next she was aware, her skin felt
odd, not burning and melting off her bones as it had before, nor
mildly warm as it had most recently. She looked around, really
looked into the flames, and they parted before her. Eagerly, she
walked through the towering wall of red that danced on either side
of her some twenty feet up. When she came to the end of the burning
tunnel the flames gave way to lush green grass, a brilliant blue
sky and the edge of a river bank.

She knew this river. Scurrying to her
knees and then her belly, she leaned over the edge of the
embankment and dipped her fingers in the cold water. The coolness
made her throat ache. She cupped her hands and drank greedily,
handful after handful, of the water, until it dribbled down her
chin and she almost choked on her last mouthful. God that felt
good! She splashed the water all over her body, crying out at the
momentary release from the pain. After a while, she no longer felt
the burning, and the thirst in her throat was quenched.

She flipped onto her back and slid her
hands behind her head to stare at the huge, fluffy clouds above
her. A bird flew in circles high up in the sky, and if she strained
very hard, she could hear the flapping of its powerful wings as it
soared. She wanted to fly free like that bird. She squeezed her
eyes shut and wished with all her heart, and when she opened them
she was hovering in the air, not flying, but looking down at
herself lying in a bed with rumpled sheets half over her bare
legs.

She gazed at herself in
wonder. She didn’t remember her legs being so pretty. Her skin
appeared almost translucent, and if she stared long enough she
thought she could make out her bones underneath her skin.
Impossible
. Her eyes
wandered to her face, skin bloodless and shimmering with sweat, her
cheekbones protruding. She reached down to run a finger over a
sharp cheekbone and smooth back her tangled, matted hair when her
eyes suddenly opened.

Her
amber eyes stared back at her with all the understanding of a
mother’s love. She reached out, her hand touching the hand of her
other self that lay in the bed. “Come,” her other self whispered.
“Time to go.”

She turned hand in hand with the other
her to fly away, but a man standing at the foot of the bed caught
her attention. His eyes, blue like the sky before a winter storm,
looked straight into her soul. She knew him, but couldn’t recall
his name, yet her heart squeezed at the sight of him.

She loved him.

He squeezed his eyes shut as she
stared, his shoulders shaking with a tremor that vibrated the air
she floated in. A dark-haired woman moved to stand beside him and
put her hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and the
shimmering tears made Madelaine want to cry.

She didn’t want him to be so sad, so
broken. She glanced up at the bright sky calling her then to her
right to tell the mirror her to go, but her other self was no
longer there. “Stay,” a voice―her mother’s voice―said to her. “I’m
proud of you. I love you.”

Cool tears trailed down Madelaine’s
cheek. She glanced once more at the sky, took a deep breath and
locked her gaze on the man. She’d stay. He needed her.